


turning heads, i got all the eyes on me

by saddermachine



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Football | Soccer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddermachine/pseuds/saddermachine
Summary: a semi-final and an injury.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	turning heads, i got all the eyes on me

Johnny sees Donghyuck hit the ground in slow-motion.

Time grabs him by the throat and makes him watch as Donghyuck – the ball at his feet, his dark overgrown hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck – goes down with a cry of pain that’s audible even over the thundering roar of the crowd assembled in the Johan Cruyff Arena. The hand that time has wrapped around his throat tightens its grip until all he can hear is the sluggish thud of his own heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. He's rooted to the spot, frozen with shock.

Donghyuck is on the ground now, clutching his left shoulder and writhing in apparent agony. His face is twisted up, white teeth digging into a bloody lip. Then he disappears as three, four, then six players – their own and the rival team’s – and the referee converge on him.

A whistle blows and Johnny refocuses his gaze with difficulty as four medics sprint out onto the pitch, carrying a stretcher between them. 

The knot of players gathered around Donghyuck scatter reluctantly to make room for the medics and a blue-gloved pair of hands gently pulls Donghyuck's own hand away from his shoulder, which seems to be twisted at an awkward angle. Dislocated, maybe. Off to the side, a fight between their captain and the player who committed the foul is threatening to break out but Johnny can't bring himself to move or care. Bile is rising up in his throat and he turns away, shutting his eyes against the noise and the lights and the after-image of Donghyuck writhing in pain that's burned itself onto the inside of his eyelids. Nothing he does makes it go away.

Donghyuck has always been oddly immune to injury; too young, too untouchable for anything any defender might try to ever truly stick.

Until now. After getting away by the skin of his teeth for years and years, it had to be now. Tonight. 

A sharp whistle blast from the referee makes Johnny flinch and turn around just in time to see Donghyuck being carried off on the narrow orange stretcher. A paramedic – an actual _paramedic_ – in a bright yellow vest is jogging alongside him, bending low to talk to Donghyuck who has his uninjured arm thrown over his eyes.

It's not enough to hide the pain still written clearly across his face from the leering cameras that project the images up onto the big screens and millions of television screens across the continent and anger flares so readily in Johnny's gut that it makes him feel almost sick.

He scrubs a hand over his face and glances around, cataloguing the players now jogging back into position. 

Anger is as good a motivator as anything else. The 2:2 flashing up on the screens high above the pitch is another. Donghyuck – terrifying and undaunted by the weight the team, the press and their fans have placed on his shoulders – had scored both of them, he dragged them, kicking and screaming, out of a desperate first-half that had seen them concede twice and into the light. Losing the match is not an option.

A goal in extra time makes the difference. A goal in extra time launches them headfirst into the final.

But the joy – the delirium of it all – reaches Johnny as if from a great distance. When the final whistle blows he sprints the length of the pitch to scream himself hoarse with the others but the euphoria of having finally fucking done it fades far too quickly, leaving a bitter aftertaste and when he marches off the pitch and into the depths of the stadium no one is stupid enough to get in his way.

Donghyuck is sitting up when Johnny pushes the door to the small medical room open and slips inside. The television mounted to the wall is on, showing an analysed replay of the goal that got them through. The quiet _click_ of the door falling shut behind him makes Donghyuck look up and his face splits into a futile attempt at his usually bright, infectious smile and he gropes around behind him for the remote, quickly muting the senseless chatter from the TV. His bottom lip, Johnny notices with a lurch, is still bleeding slightly from where he had apparently bitten it to stop himself from screaming. The blood shines dully in the colourless glow from the strip lighting.

It's a sure sign that something is wrong when Donghyuck lets him step close without as much as a light-hearted comment. His smile fades quickly, leaving behind a face that's tear-streaked, resigned and exhausted. The fire usually burning behind his eyes seems to have burnt itself out.

"How are you?" Johnny asks, his voice loud in the heavy silence. "How's the shoulder?"

They're only inches apart, Donghyuck's legs spread wide to accommodate him, and Johnny's hands hover uncertainly over his tear-stained cheeks, longing to touch and comfort but unsure of how to do it. In the end, he gives in and he lets the thumb of his right hand brush gently over the small mole that sits high on Donghyuck's cheekbone before pulling him in close. He's mindful of the sling Donghyuck's left arm is in but Donghyuck makes no noise of complaint. 

The fingers of Donghyuck's free hand grab hold of the slippery material of Johnny's jersey, holding on tightly, and after a second's hesitation he buries his face unceremoniously in Johnny's chest, taking one deep steadying breath before replying, "I'm fine—it's fine."

It's not particularly convincing. There's a tremor in his voice, which makes him sound very young and very tired. 

"Don't lie," Johnny says, so quietly it's a miracle that Donghyuck hears him. 

A small hitching sob makes his heart contract painfully. A cramp that has nothing to do with the 90 minutes he spent out on the pitch.

"I won't be fit for the final," Donghyuck says, forcing the words out of his throat as if they're physically hurting him. "I won't be fit for anything for the rest of the season. They're doing a scan after this but it's not—" he takes another deep breath, "—12 weeks rehab. At least." 

Even as Johnny's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach like a stone in a lake, he slides a hand into Donghyuck's soft, sweat-damp hair and presses a kiss that he hopes says more than he could ever put into words onto the crown of his head. Donghyuck's whole body is shaking with the combined effort of stopping himself from breaking down and at the same time resisting the crushing weight of his own anger, frustration and disappointment that's bearing down on him and all Johnny can do is hold him tighter until the dam breaks.

"It's just—so fucking _unfair_ ," Donghyuck hisses, his voice trembling with fury and tears. "It was a stupid, _stupid_ , unnecessary fucking foul."

"I know," Johnny murmurs soothingly, masking his own anger to make room for Donghyuck's. There will be plenty of time and plenty of opportunities for him to make his fury known while Donghyuck, on the other hand, only has now to be angry and then 12 weeks of mind-numbing rehab to get over it.

"I work and _work_ and then—because of this I can't even... I can't—" Donghyuck stops abruptly and a sob wrenches itself out of his throat.

They stay like that for a while, time slipping by them in increments. Outside in the hall, Johnny can hear players and staff moving past, their footsteps and voices forming a low hum of noise that comfortably fills the silence. Donghyuck's right arm is wrapped tightly around Johnny's waist, his fingernails digging in hard enough to hurt a little, but Johnny doesn't complain but stands still and steady as Donghyuck continues to tremble, his quiet tears staining the front of Johnny's jersey.

After a while, the trembling subsides somewhat and Donghyuck carefully extracts himself from Johnny's grip and turns his face away to scrub away the worst of his tears with the sleeve of his undershirt. He looks both young and old at the same time, his eyes speaking of a kind of exhaustion not meant to be felt by people his age. The hopes and dreams of hundreds of thousands of people weigh heavily on his shoulders. They always have, only up until now he's always been mindful enough not to show it. But it shows now, in the defeated, helpless line of his shoulders and in his hands – usually restless with an overflow of energy – now folded wearily in his lap. His eyes are dark and sad.

"I just thought," he starts, so quiet that Johnny has to duck low to hear him. "I thought I could do it. Win it for us, I mean."

Johnny straightens up and brings a hand under Donghyuck's chin, tilting his face up. "You _did_ ," he says with all the conviction he can muster.

"I didn't—" Donghyuck starts, hoarse and frustrated but Johnny won't let him finish. 

"You _did_ ," he insists. "You turned the game around. We would be nowhere near the final if it wasn't for you, don't you understand? Next month we will win, we will get that stupid fucking trophy and it will be because of you— _for_ you. We'll get that trophy, you'll take rehabilitation seriously and then next year we will again, okay? We'll take it all."

Donghyuck is staring up at him. His eyes are still swimming with unshed tears and shining in the pale light but behind that – the dejection and anger that will fade eventually – something else glimmers faintly, but unquestionably defiant. Johnny wills it to glow brighter still. 

**Author's Note:**

> ngl this is just like an AU of the 2018/19 UCL semi-final between THS and Ajax. (DON'T LOOK AT ME.) 
> 
> but in case anyone wants to know: in this johnny's a centre-back (a very sexy position. source: dude trust me) and hyuck's a centre-forward, who's flexible enough to play deeper in the midfield, as an inverted winger or as an outright striker because he's sexy and clever.
> 
> the title is from this song [this song](https://youtu.be/RkID8_gnTxw).


End file.
